Ode to a Nightingale
by sqidders
Summary: In which Sherlock and John are laying in bed and Sherlock recites a poem.


He took a deep breath, slim chest and stomach slightly expanding, abdomen exposed from beneath the soft white sheets of his flatmate's, his lover's, and, most of all, his best friend's once neat bed, hospital corners freed and sheet tossed about. His dark curls spread out across the pillow, face relaxed and smooth, blue-grey eyes dialated in the dim lighting of the room. The man rolled over onto his side, brushing a few stray curls out of his face. His light, clear eyes focused upon the other's face, studying every tanned feature of his face, chest, the soft blend of grey, blond and brown hair. Each hair a different texture - grey the thickest, coarsest, blending into a soft, light blond with an almost equally textured brown accent.

He took one more breath, eyes focusing on darker blue ones, soft pink lips, light stubble sprikled across his face. The man, this beauty of a man, opened his mouth, the soft pink lips forming words memorised long ago.

"_My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains_

_My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,_

_Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains_

_One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:_

_'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,_

_But being too happy in thine happiness,_

_That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,_

_In some melodious plot_

_Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,_

_Singest of summer in full-throated ease._"

He recited, the words tumbling from his throat. His long, lanky fingers tangled themselves with the blond man's, the other hand gently carding through his touseled hair, the other man's face softening at the affection.

"_O for a draught of vintage! that hath been_

_Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,_

_Tasting of Flora and the country-green,_

_Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!_

_O for a beaker full of the warm South!_

_Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,_

_With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,_

_And purple-stained mouth,_

_That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,_

_And with thee fade away into the forest dim:_

_Fade far away, dissolve, and quite foret_

_What thou among the leaves hast never known,_

_The weariness, the fever, and the fret_

_Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;_

_Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,_

_Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;_

_Where but to think is to be full of sorrow_

_And leaden-eyed despairs;_

_Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,_

_Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow._

_Away! away! for I will fly to thee, _

_Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, _

_But on the viewless wings of Poesy, _

_Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: _

_Already with thee! tender is the night, _

_And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, _

_Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays _

_But here there is no light, _

_Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown _

_Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. _

_I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, _

_Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, _

_But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet _

_Wherewith the seasonable month endows _

_The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; _

_White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; _

_Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves; _

_And mid-May's eldest child, _

_The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, _

_The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. _

_Darkling I listen; and, for many a time _

_I have been half in love with easeful Death, _

_Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, _

_To take into the air my quiet breath; _

_Now more than ever seems it rich to die, _

_To cease upon the midnight with no pain, _

_While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad _

_In such an ecstasy! _

_Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— _

_To thy high requiem become a sod. _

_Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! _

_No hungry generations tread thee down; _

_The voice I hear this passing night was heard _

_In ancient days by emperor and clown: _

_Perhaps the self-same song that found a path _

_Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, _

_She stood in tears amid the alien corn; _

_The same that ofttimes hath _

_Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam _

_Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. _

_Forlorn! the very word is like a bell _

_To toll me back from thee to my sole self! _

_Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well _

_As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. _

_Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades _

_Past the near meadows, over the still stream, _

_Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep _

_In the next valley-glades: _

_Was it a vision, or a waking dream? _

_Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?_"

He finished, curling up against the other man, long limbs wrapped around both himself and his other, face softened and lips gently parted, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

The other man brought his lips to the pale man's, mouths gently moving together, hand on his waist, other cupping his cheek, shifting just so that their bodies alined perfectly.

It was gentle, open-mouthed, and conveyed so much more than words ever could. It meant, _I love you_, it meant,_ I care about you_, it meant, _that was beautiful_, it meant, _you are fantastic_, everything thay had said but couldn't say enough, that didn't quite say just how much that admiration, affection, love, was aimed toward the other.

The dark-haired man slowly pulled away, resting his head against the other's, hands still entiwined, a crooked smile taking up the left half of his mouth.

"I love you," He muttered, running his hand up the pale side of the thin man, eyes slipping shut and the lighter pair followed soon behind, the two of them sinking into a restful sleep.


End file.
